It was raining and he had nowhere to go… He was cold too. The rain fell in thick, heavy sheets and pounded him like battering rams. It had soaked his clothes quickly and now he was wet and cold. He stumbled along the road through the rain, hands trembling, body trembling. The rain fell on his shoulders, in his hair, and on his cheeks. It was the rain that fell from his eyes and that was coursing down his cheeks. It was the rain.

Riders came around the bend and rode by; spraying mud from the puddle onto him. He slipped and fell to the ground as the last rider yelled to get the hell out of the way before disappearing as quickly as they had come. He scampered back from the road and tumbled down a small hill. At the bottom he landed on his back and the rain ran down his cheeks again. It was the rain. He pulled himself up and started off. The mud weighed his clothes down; it made them smell. He rubbed the rain from his eyes and felt another heavy sheet fall on top of him. He looked up into the cloudy, black, angry sky. He felt the rain fall down his cheeks. It never seemed to end. His clothes would never be dry again.

Sano woke. He felt his clothes. No rain. He opened his eyes and saw the room in blurry detail. He didn't know where he was but where ever it was, it was warm and for some reason, that was all that seemed to matter. But why had he woken? Yelling, he had heard yelling, but it was far away and didn't matter. But it did matter. He struggled against the incoming blackness. Something told him to listen to that voice, something about that voice. He was so tired. The dark room seemed to swim. He closed his eyes as sleep demanded him to and allowed himself be pulled back into darkness.

If he had been asked, he would have answered that life was rarely fair, as was reason. He would have continued on by giving detailed examples. But he wasn't asked, so he kept his thoughts to himself; as usual.

He knew the inequality of the country, of the world. He was aware of the status quo. Money equaled power. Power equaled freedom. Freedom equaled… well, he wasn't quite sure what freedom equaled.

Freedom for the rich was leisure and games. Freedom for the middleclass was the luxury of being able to choose what to do with their own lives, freedom for the poor, however, usually meant death; tricky little bastard, freedom.

His father had reached "freedom" at the ripe age of 37. Couldn't have happened to a nicer bastard, he had always thought. His father had been the one who taught him everything he knew about fairness. Not through words, mind you, but through actions.

Neglect had been common, so had been beatings; and, heaven forbid it be forgotten, the complete and utter disregard for his feelings and thoughts.

He learned that if you didn't work you got beaten and thrown outside without supper. He also learned that if you did work you still got beaten; only it was after supper and the half-gallon of sake his ass of a father consumed each night.

It was not acceptable to refuse taking the blame for using up all the family money. It was also not acceptable to point out that it wasn't you who habitually spent all the money on alcohol. Finally, the most unacceptable thing was to run from the beating your father dished out to punish you for the lack of money that was in reality his own fault.

Yes, life indeed was rarely fair.

But then there were those incidents, few are far between, where life was just. The night his father was beaten and money stolen, the few passersby that took pity on a street urchin, and the day Shishio was destroyed by his own flames were all instances to prove that.

Overlooking his life, however, one could clearly tell that the bad far outweighed the good in almost every day of his life. That was until recently.

When someone has a change in luck, they find it difficult to give you an exact moment for reference point. They can't tell you the exact moment that their luck changed. He, however, could.

The day his fortune turned around and where the good outweighed the bad was very clear to him. Hell, he was sure he knew the exact time it happened.

If asked, he would have answered that the day life became fair was the day Saitou Hajime became a part of his life. One would assume that that be the day they met at the dojo and where he was used as a pincushion, but that would be incorrect. That was the day that he merely met the cricket bastard. The day he truly became part of his life was… well, that's not really important. But he wasn't asked, so he kept his thoughts to himself; as usual.

The city was loud and uncomfortable as he slowly passed through the streets, lost. He pulled his ragged, mud-clogged, clothes closer to him, trying to keep the little warmth that he had left. He shivered and sneezed harshly, his shirt falling open. He bit back a gasp as the cold assaulted his bruised chest.

He had been walking for days, hopelessly trying to find somewhere to stay. Many street urchins refused to share their sleeping places with him and even resorted to hitting him to chase him away. He had had no food and little sleep and the little sleep he did manage was only gained within the confines of the nearby forest or under the bridges of the city. His stomach growled and he bit back a small sob. He was hungry.

The crowd surrounded him as he cautiously made his way down the street; people bustled about trying to get home or finish last minute shopping. He stumbled a bit as someone pushed by him roughly. He glared at the retreating back and sneezed once again, he was sick.

He started walking and kept as far away from people as possible. When he had reached the corner he paused and looked around. Across the street stood the hot food stands. His mouth drooled as he observed a man as he purchased a hot potato and bit into it. His stomach made the decision for him. He looked both ways, trying to avoid being run over by the odd carriage and quickly darted across the busy street.

The scent of food was strong and distracting. He heard a shout and jumped back as a carriage nearly ran him over and ran the rest of the way in fear of being trampled. When he reached safety he breathed a sigh of relief and looked around.

As he passed by the stands, he gazed at the foods offered to the people with money; the people who could afford to eat, so hungry. He roamed the area for what seemed hours, hoping someone would take pity and give him a little of something, food, money, it didn't matter.

It was when he was passing an alley and nearly tripped that he had happened to look down. There on the ground was yen. He bent down to pick it up and felt arms close around him.

No one around him paid any attention as he was pulled into the dark alley behind.

After a few hours, when the day had waned and given into the night, Saitou had straitened in his chair and quietly crossed over to the couch where the boy was sleeping fitfully. The covers had worked their way down to around the rooster's waist and had wrapped themselves around him. Standing over him, Saitou could hear low murmuring and so he crouched down to better hear; the soft pleas to stop and for help caused something in the officer's chest to tighten.

Sagara Sanosuke was not the type to neither plead nor beg. His rock steady self-reliance garnered grudging respect from the remote man listening. Sagara had seemingly raised himself for 10 years and managed to turn out well enough for it. Yes, the boy had quirks that were destructive and hurtful for both himself and for others around him, but they were few and far between and easily kept in check. To hear this strong, stubborn, young man beg for help gripped his heart.

Saitou deliberated for a moment or two until a restrained whine made his decision for him. He slowly raised his hand and after hesitating several times, rested it upon the top of the young man's head. Even through his doubt, Saitou noticed how soft the Ahou's hair was and how it molded to fit the shape of his hand. He looked at the young man and truly took in his condition.

He was exhausted. That was the first thing that registered. He couldn't have gotten much sleep since he last saw him and he doubted the little sleep the boy did get was restful.

The second thing that he noticed was the heat of the boy's forehead. Saitou frowned and rested the back of his hand against the clammy skin and glared. The Ahou was burning up. He nearly cursed as he realized that Sagara had been without a coat in the chilly weather and had caught sick.

The third thing that registered was narrowed glossy brown eyes looking at him.

Saitou ruthlessly shoved the panic at being caught down and locked it away. He was the one in control here, no matter what. He withdrew his hand with far more grace than he felt and slowly stood. Not once did he break eye contact with the young man on his couch.

Sagara continued to look at him without saying anything. His body never moved but his eyes tracked every movement Saitou made. Saitou observed for a moment more and decided to be the one to break the silence.

"You're finally awake, I see." He crossed his arms and waited for the boy to speak. Sagara watched him for a moment and then glanced about the room. The older man could see the moment when the bewilderment entered the brown eyes and knew that the sickened man was confused. This could not be good.

"Do you know why you are?" He asked in a clipped tone. The glossy brown looked at gold and the head shook in the negative. Saitou narrowed his eyes and he noticed Sagara draw back as if expecting something.

"This is the police station." He continued on ignoring the slight curling of the body on the couch. "You are in my office as you have been for the past few hours."

Saitou paused to let that sink in. He saw the boy shivering and took a step forward to pull up the covers; it wouldn't do to allow his condition to grow worse, he still needed to question him after all.

Sagara jerked back as Saitou raised his hand. He stopped mid-motion and lowered it at seeing the fear in the young man's eyes. He sighed mentally and spoke in a low tone.

"You are going to get even sicker if you do not keep warm." He moved forward slowly and at not seeing the fear pulled the covers up. He focused on the wariness that he glimpsed in the brown orbs. "Do you know where you are?"

Sagara focused on him for a moment or two and hesitantly answered.

"A dream." Saitou raised an eyebrow, a dream? Where had that come from?

"Why do you say that?" He asked curiously.

"You…" Sagara broke off.

"Yes, what about me." He watched as Sagara looked away, either in embarrassment or nervousness he didn't know. Something about the situation pulled at Saitou. There was something about seeing the young man, weak and almost helpless, on his couch seemingly needing his protection. Saitou crouched down closer to Sagara and crossed his arms, resting them on his knees. He continued on in a softer tone. "What about me?"

It must have been the tone that did it. The sick youth turned his bleary eyes back to the officer and answered in a quiet voice.

"You look like him." The boy blushed and buried his head in the covers. Saitou's eyebrow shot back up. What the hell was he talking about? He continued on in the same soft tone. It had gotten him this far hadn't it? What would it hurt to speak to the obviously exhausted man in front of him like this a little longer? Saitou doubted he'd remember the conversation later anyway.

"Who do I look like?" The blankets stirred and after a minute of Saitou's patience being tested, he was rewarded with Sagara's head coming back into view.

"Saitou."

"Why would you think this is a dream? Why wouldn't I be Saitou?" He was genuinely curious.

"You're too nice. Saitou hates me. He makes fun of me and likes to hurt me." The blunt and honest answer from the sick youth stabbed at Saitou's conscious. Did he really think that? Did he really think that he hated him? Sure they didn't get along even at the best of times, but hate him?

Saitou saw the honesty in Sagara's eyes and knew that the youth was not trying to mislead Saitou. He truly believed that he hated him. Was he that much of a bastard?

"Well, what do you expect? You don't go out of your way to change my opinion."

Obviously, he was. Saitou nearly growled as the boy flinched and pulled back. Damn it, he hadn't meant to say that. He was so busy cursing his impatience he almost missed the Ahou's response.

"I can't help it if he doesn't want to… to… oh, I don't know." The quiet voice grabbed the swordsman's attention.

"That I don't want to what, Ahou?" He waited.

"That he… that he doesn't want to listen. He's always so pushy and hurtful, he doesn't make it even the slightest bit possible to show him. I've tried to tell him… he just doesn't want to hear it. It's just not possible for me to change his opinion when there's no space for new ones."

That certainly caught him off guard. When did the rooster ever think this deeply? Saitou took a good look at the man in front of him. Yes, still the rooster head. The dejected look on Sagara's face made him want to say something. He viciously fought down that urge.

He needed to question Sagara. He decided to get back to the original purpose of talking to the unruly youth.

"How did you get the bag, Ahou?"

"What bag?" Saitou glared.

"The bag with the heart in it, Ahou. The one you walked in with."

Sagara's reaction could not have been more explosive. Saitou watched the face before him as fatigue was replaced with confusion and, as he spoke, superseded with recognition, horror, and finally outright terror. He was not prepared for when Sano practically leaped off the couch. He found himself on his ass on the floor in his own office, how was that for you? He growled and turned to yell at the stupid boy but stopped when he caught sight of him.

Sanosuke had landed on his ass as well but, in the short seconds it took Saitou to regain his composure, had managed to drag himself backwards until he had hit the mahogany desk and pressed himself against it. His face was paler than Saitou thought possible and his body was so alarmingly rigid, it hurt just looking at him.

To say Saitou was alarmed was an understatement. He had never seen a reaction this extreme before and even if he had, he would never have expected it from this steadfast man. But here was proof of the contrary.

Saitou pulled himself together and thought about how to handle this situation. The boy was quite clearly terrified and it would do no good to make matters worse. He had to calm him down, fast. Sanosuke could hurt himself in this state and in the back of his mind he added "or me." Saitou watched as Sanosuke pulled his legs up to his chest and started to rock slightly; definite not good.

He stood up and took a step forward but immediately regretted it when Sanosuke's head jerked up and he nearly shoved the desk out of his way to get farther from the officer. Sanosuke backed himself into the corner and started hyperventilating. Saitou stepped back and watched for a moment. He crouched down onto the ground and slowly, ever so slowly, made his way closer to the traumatized youth. Sanosuke's panicked eyes followed every movement he made as he came closer across the room.

Saitou stopped until when he was just out of arm's reach. He knelt down on his left knee and rested his right arm on the bent right. He started to talk about things that he thought would calm Sano down, get him breathing slower; all the while never reaching for him or coming any closer.

He talked about everything from the weather to the many missions he had carried out for the sake of the government. Hell, he even talked about soba. It was only when he broached the subjected of the many fights that the two of them got into that Saitou saw any notable change.

He didn't know why but he talked about the night over a month ago. He talked to Sano about being frustrated at watching how the boy was wasting his life. He had just gotten to the part where Sano told him where he had been for that infamous month when Sano surprised him. The rooster clutched his knees still but his breathing had slowed considerably. He was still gasping slightly but was no longer in danger of hyperventilating. He looked at Saitou and kept the gaze. He took a short gasp.

"Family." Saitou paused in his continuous flow of words and waited for Sano to finish. When he did, it was in bursts punctuated by short pants. "I told… you that I… had gone to… see my ... my family…"

"Yes. You did." Saitou admitted.

"Shouldn't have done… done that."

"Any why shouldn't you have?" Although the nasty little thing called his conscious screamed at him that it was wrong to get his answers this way, Saitou plowed on. "What's so wrong with that?"

Sano shook his panic filled head.

"Not supposed to… not supposed to." He clutched his knees. "Adam said so… said so."

And they were back to the elusive Adam. Saitou's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to ask just who was this Adam when he thought better of it. He needed to calm Sano down and this track of conversation was doing the opposite.

Saitou watched for a moment until a thought struck him. He slowly backed away from Sano and stood. He made his way over to the closet and opened the door. There, all the way to the left was the boy's coat. He took it off the hook and closed the door. He made his was back over to Sano and again stopped outside of reaching distance. He, in what was a hopefully non-threatening manner, held the coat out to the scared young man.

"This is your coat isn't it, rooster head? You left it here. All you had to do was ask for it back." Sano flicked his gaze from the black wool coat to Saitou, as if trying to decide which would bite first. Saitou kept it held out to him and was rewarded when Sano hesitantly reached for it. The hand shook slightly when it grasped it and darted back to its owner with said coat. Sano clutched it to him as if a lifeline. He watched as the shattered young man in front of him shuddered and rested his head on the coat which was laying on top of his knees.

It was in that moment, that heart-breaking moment; Saitou found himself doing the one thing in the world he never thought possible.

Saitou Hajime sat down next to Sagara Sanosuke, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and held him close while the boy cried; question be damned for right now.